


i just want you for my own (more than you could ever know)

by thealienmeme



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Christmas Party, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pining, idiots to lovers, merry freakin' christmas, what's this? MORE indulgent fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21646243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealienmeme/pseuds/thealienmeme
Summary: Aziraphale gets invited to a Holiday Ball but *gasp* he doesn't have a date (or an outfit)! So, he asks the only person-shaped being in the entire world that he would consider pleasant company to join him.*Ben Wyatt voice* it's about the pining(Yes, the title is from Mariah Carey's Christmas Hit "All I Want For Christmas Is You" and what about it?)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 220
Collections: Aziraphale's Library Festive Fic Recs





	i just want you for my own (more than you could ever know)

Crowley watched as carolers went door to door down the block, their cheery voices filtering through the dark December night. Though their noses were red from the cold, their smiles seemed genuine and their songs appeared to brighten the entire block. It was disgustingly festive and even more disgustingly  _ nice _ . 

A.Z. Fell and Co. was decked out in every holiday decoration imaginable, including a giant, glowing Menorah placed delicately above the doorway. Despite his previous disgust at the general atmosphere of holiday cheer, Crowley smiled at it as he walked through the front door, shaking off the bit of snowfall he had collected on his shoulders and in his hair during his short walk from the Bentley to the bookshop. 

“Aziraphale!”

“In here, dear boy. One moment, I’m just going to-” 

Aziraphale’s voice faded out as Crowley further inspected the decor. Evidently, the angel was trying to give a certain Miss Martha May Whovier a run for her money with this year’s decorations. Every bookshelf had its own mini Christmas tree complete with soft, white, twinkling lights that gave the shop a warm glow. Holly was hung around the ceiling with red and gold trimmings and tinsel thrown in what had to have been a very haphazard manner considering it was  _ everywhere. _

Crowley was just about to pick at the miniature manger set near the till when Aziraphale appeared next to him. 

“Do not touch that!” Aziraphale practically yelled, sounding scandalised as ever. “I’ve kept it in perfect condition since it was gifted to me in 1903, and I won’t have it ruined by your…  _ wandering  _ digits.” Aziraphale emphasized his point by lightly smacking Crowley’s hand away. 

“Me? Ruining something of yours? Wouldn’t dream of it, angel,” Crowley said, rubbing his hand as if the light touch had been anywhere near a proper smack. 

Aziraphale, cocoa in hand, began to walk toward the backroom and Crowley followed suit, letting his fingers lightly trace along every surface he could reach. 

“Now, what was it that you needed to ask me that apparently couldn’t be done over the phone?” Crowley asked as he pinched a poinsettia petal between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Ah, yes, I had almost forgotten-” Aziraphale settled himself into his arm chair with a satisfied wiggle and lifted the mug to his lips. “As you well know, I’m a donor to many charities in London and abroad.” 

Here, he stopped as if waiting for a response. Crowley, who had just flopped himself onto the couch, looked up and made the universal gesture for ‘Well,  _ go on _ ’*. 

*When you sort of raise your hand and move it in a quick, repeated circular motion, in case you were curious

“Right. Yes. So, this year, I may have gone a bit overboard with the donations…” Here, Aziraphale moved to fidget a bit with his cardigan, which replaces his overcoat in the cold months.

Crowley raised his eyebrows over his sunglasses. 

“How overboard?” Crowley asked as he fought back a smirk. Aziraphale was so god damn good. Down to his very core. Always tipping no less than 40 percent at every restaurant, allowing students into his bookshop during finals week even though he worried the entire time that they’d spill cold brew all over his first editions, and even, on more than one occasion, sheltering stray cats and dogs during storms*. It made Crowley’s heart swell with unbearable fondness. 

*Getting him to part with those animals after the storms had passed was an entirely different story that involved a lot of tears, a promise that they’d go to good homes, and a miracle from one whipped demon ensuring that they do

Aziraphale was looking down at his hands. 

“Well, never mind how much exactly. I was very overjoyed, you see. The world didn’t end and I was feeling, er, generous,” Aziraphale chuckled nervously. “Anyway, the point is, I donated enough that I’ve been invited to one of the charities here in London’s Annual Holiday Ball.” 

Crowley perked up a little at this. A ball meant dressing up, and Crowley had been waiting centuries to be allowed to dress Aziraphale, which is what he now assumed he had been asked here to do. 

“A ball? And you want me to find you the perfect outfit. Well, of course I’d be happy to oblige. You know I’ve been trying to get you to my tailor for the last 20 years, truly the best England has to offer, we can make an appointment in the morning and we can probably have a piece ready in time, depending on the date of the event-” 

Aziraphale stared at Crowley as he talked with a sort of amused look on his face. 

“What is it, angel?” Crowley realized he had been rambling. “If I sound too eager, it’s only because I’ve been waiting for this moment since time kept moving, but your sense of style did not.” 

A smile settled on Aziraphale’s face as he moved to take another sip of his cocoa, which would, under normal circumstances, be cold by now. As it were, Crowley could see the steam emerging as if he had just poured it. 

“No, dear boy, it’s not that. It’s only- I’d be happy to have you dress me, you always look so suave,” At this, Crowley felt his cheeks begin to burn traitorously. “But I was actually wondering if, well you don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to, I know it’s terribly last minute, but if it wouldn’t be trouble…” 

“Yesss? Get on with it, Asssziraphale, I don’t have all sssscentury,” Crowley felt himself slip into a hiss. It wasn’t his fault Aziraphale looked so nervous which, in turn, made Crowley nervous. 

“Would you like to accompany me?” 

_ Oh.  _

The surprise must’ve shown on Crowley’s face because Aziraphale immediately began his retreat. 

“Of course, like I said, you don’t have to come with me, and, goodness, I haven’t even told you the date. I should’ve asked you sooner, but I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to go-” 

“Yes.” Crowley said with his back ramrod straight. 

“Oh, really? You’ll come?” Aziraphale’s nervous manner began to fade and was replaced with a bright smile that could’ve powered London for the next thousand years, and will most likely power Crowley for just as long. 

“Yeah, sure. _ Someone _ has to be your date and I don’t think you’re bloody well planning on asking Shadwell,” Crowley said, waving his hand dismissively. “So, when is it?” 

“Ah yes, well, it’s on Saturday.” Aziraphale replied. 

“Saturday the what? Today’s the 9th, so is it the 21st?” Crowley pulled out his phone to check the calendar. Time was hard to keep track of when you’re 6,000 years old and he wanted to be sure he had the date right. 

“No, it’s, er, the 14th.” Aziraphale smiled sheepishly at Crowley. 

“Wait, it’s  _ this _ Saturday? Aziraphale,” Crowley shook his head. “Why did you wait so long to tell me? Oh, this is going to be so last minute, but we’ll get it done. I suppose I should call Leroy now rather than in the morning, we’ll get something together.” 

As Crowley stood to call his tailor, Aziraphale grabbed his sleeve and pulled at it so that they were facing each other. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered, suddenly finding something very interesting to look at on the ground next to Crowley’s boot. 

“Any time,” Crowley said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile before turning for the door, again, phone to his ear. “Hello, Leroy? Yes, I know it’s late. Look, I have a very,  _ very _ important job for you. I’ll pay you double if you can pull this off.” 

Aziraphale watched as Crowley made his way out into the bookshop, a fond look plastered on his face directed at the demon’s back. 

_ This will be fun.  _ Aziraphale thought as he blew on his cocoa. 

____________________________________________________________

It had been  _ mostly _ fun. 

The week went by in a blur, with multiple trips to Crowley’s tailor, Leroy, who had made an unhidden face of disgust the moment Aziraphale stepped into the shop. 

“What is this from? 1945?” Leroy said, plucking at Aziraphale’s waistcoat. 

Crowley giggled as that was, in fact, around the last time Aziraphale purchased clothes, before launching into a very intense debate with Leroy over the cut and style that Aziraphale was to be outfitted with. Crowley thought a nice, well-fitting single breasted suit would be just fine, but Leroy insisted a double-breasted would be more appropriate. 

After what felt like hours*, they both decided on a single-breasted three-piece suit, light brown to match Aziraphale’s current aesthetics. 

*Aziraphale tells time in hunger, mostly, and at this point, he was getting very peckish

A few measurements later and they were out of the shop and standing on the very snowy, crowded street. As Christmas shoppers bustled by, Aziraphale noticed a woman struggling to carry what was probably three bags more than her limit, and gave her a quick miracle to ensure nothing fell onto the damp ground. When he turned back to say something to Crowley, he saw a soft expression cross the demon’s face before it flickered to something more neutral. 

“C’mon, angel, let’s get you something to eat,” Crowley tugged on Aziraphale’s gloved hand and pulled them toward a cafe that served “gourmet” hot chocolate, whatever that meant, and offered a wide selection of pastries. 

A few more frantic visits to Leroy later and Aziraphale had a new suit tucked under his arm as he and Crowley made their way back to the Bentley. It was Friday, which meant the ball was tomorrow. Aziraphale found himself actually excited, something he typically didn’t feel when forced to interact with humans he didn’t know. But with the promise of Crowley’s company, an open bar, and a new suit after a few decades of the same old, same old, a grand time was sure to be had. Which reminded him… 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said as he ducked into the car. “What are you going to wear? I just realized we’ve spent all week on my outfit and haven’t spoken a lick about yours.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, I’m not the one who hasn’t stepped inside a clothing shop since the 40s,” Crowley smiled as he pulled them onto the block of the bookshop. “I’ll be by to pick you up at 6:30 tomorrow, yes?” 

“That sounds perfectly agreeable,” Aziraphale said. He patted Crowley’s knee. “Thank you, again, for all of your help, and for coming with me. I fear it would’ve been dreadfully boring without you, my dear.” 

Crowley gulped loudly. “Not a problem, angel, I’m happy to help.” 

Then came a moment where they just sat there, simply staring at each other. Aziraphale’s hand was still resting on Crowley’s knee, which he had completely forgotten about until he followed the demon’s gaze to where it sat. 

“Right! Well, I’ll be off, then. I will see you at 6:30 tomorrow night. Er, thank you.” He awkwardly patted Crowley’s knee again and, suit in hand, shuffled back into his shop. 

As soon as he was safely inside and heard the Bentley roar to life and drive off, Aziraphale slumped against his door. 

_ Good God, Aziraphale, get a grip on yourself. You still have to make it through the ball,  _ he thought before miracling the suit to the small flat above the bookshop and setting off in search of his favorite mint tea. 

___________________________________________________

It’s not like Aziraphale had never gotten dressed up, before. Oh, he’d been invited to his fair share of parties and balls - he hasn’t been a complete recluse for 6,000 years. But he didn’t have a date for any of those. 

_ It’s not a _ real _ date, though, is it?  _ Aziraphale thought to himself. 

Nervous, he started getting ready much earlier than necessary and found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, fully dressed, by 5 p.m. 

Getting ready early for Aziraphale meant there was more time to fidget with the buttons on his new suit, worry at his hair, and start to regret every life choice he had ever made. 

Somewhere in-between all of the fidgeting, Aziraphale’s mind drifted to what Crowley would be wearing. He wasn’t lying or exaggerating when he told Crowley he always looked suave, like a debonair spy or an impossibly cool but aloof model. 

Aziraphale looked up and saw that an hour had already passed and it was now 6 o’clock. Smoothing out his jacket, he made his way downstairs to the bookshop. He was just about to start rearranging the poinsettias when he heard the familiar rumble of the Bentley outside. Just as he was reaching for the doorknob, it opened. 

“Ange-” Crowley stopped when he saw Aziraphale, hand still poised mid-air. 

They both exhaled soft gasps as they took in one another. Crowley was wearing his usual black sunglasses and a lovely black suit, accented with a red tie and a small sprig of holly tucked into his jacket’s breast pocket. As Aziraphale took in the whole of Crowley, he noticed something sparkling in his hands - a bouquet. 

“Wow,  _ Aziraphale _ , you look- you look  _ fantastic _ ,” Crowley breathed. “I’m going to have to leave Leroy a huge tip for this one, it’s, well, it’s perfect.” 

“Thank you, my dear, you look amazing as well,” Aziraphale leaned over to prod at the bouquet in Crowley’s right hand. “Now, what is all this?” 

Crowley looked down at his hand as if he had forgotten he was holding something and quickly pressed the flowers into Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Oh, um, yeah, so, these are for you,” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Nothing much, just thought, you know, thought they’d look nice in the shop.” 

Aziraphale studied the arrangement. Wrapped in a silver ribbon were a dozen ruby red roses, complemented with glittered eryngium, silvered eucalyptus, and fir. With a snap of his fingers, they vanished from his hands and appeared in a glass vase on his desk. 

“You really didn’t have to, but thank you all the same, they’re absolutely lovely,” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed Crowley’s cheek like they had done it a million times before. It made Crowley turn quite a fetching shade of red. “Now, let’s get a wiggle on! We shan’t be late, what a bad impression that would make.” 

Aziraphale grabbed his coat and headed out the door, leaving behind a still blushing Crowley who was opening and closing his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately decided against it and ran to catch up to the angel. 

Upon arrival, a valet approached the Bentley and held the door open for a reluctant Crowley, who was telling said valet to “be careful, I don’t want to see so much as a smudge on her when I get back, do you understand?” 

Aziraphale was looking up excitedly at the hall, decorated in elegant golds and greens, with a red carpet leading up the stairs to the entrance. Dozens of other attendees were milling around outside or heading in, and as Crowley stood next to him, Aziraphale looped their arms together and motioned to the stairs. 

“Shall we?” 

Soft jazz greeted them as they made their way inside. While they were waiting in line for the coat check, a woman wearing a sparkling red cocktail dress approached and laid a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Mr. Fell, right?” She said with a soft smile. 

“Yes, that’s me, and with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” Aziraphale said, turning on his just-a-human-interacting-with-another-human-nothing-to-see-here voice. 

“Abigail Davies, I’m the executive director,” She smiled a very wide grin, revealing very white teeth minus the small lipstick stain Crowley noticed on her right incisor. “It’s such a pleasure to meet our biggest donor.” 

“Biggest donor? My, I had no idea,” Aziraphale said with genuine amazement. “Well, of course, it’s no trouble at all. What’s the use of having money if you’re not going to give it to those who need it more than yourself?” 

“How generous!” Abigail said, turning to Crowley. “And this must be your husband.” Abigail put her hand out for a handshake and Crowley took it, smiling. 

“Anthony,” Crowley said, leaning in to whisper to Abigail as he caught Aziraphale stiffen at the word ‘husband.’ “You know, sometimes I think he might really be an angel.” 

Abigail laughed, delighted. “Well, I do hope you two enjoy the ball. Mr. Fell, I’ll see you before the speech, yes? Don’t make it too long, this crowd gets restless after a while.” 

Aziraphale went pale. 

“S-speech?” Crowley could see Aziraphale start to mess with the bottom of his jacket, a nervous twitch.

“Yes, Grace did tell you about that in the invitation, right? As our biggest donor, it’s tradition to get up and speak. Nothing too extravagant, mind you,” Abigail said, distractedly, as she spotted a waiter struggling to handle an already-drunk attendee. 

“Yes, er, of course, right,” Aziraphale smiled. “Of course she did. Must’ve slipped my mind.” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. 

“Right, well, it really was a pleasure meeting the two of you,” Abigail put a hand on each of their arms, gave a light squeeze, and was off to help wrangle the quite inebriated guest. 

Crowley watched with a grin as Abigail left and turned to Aziraphale, who was still looking rather white in the face.

“You okay, angel?” Crowley had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t, but he would allow Aziraphale to decide that for himself. 

“I don’t remember the invitation saying  _ anything _ about a speech,” Aziraphale whispered. “Oh god, you know how I get when speaking in public. Do you remember that time at the Roman forum? It was a complete disaster. I couldn’t show my face there for at least 80 years.” 

Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay,” Crowley knew that Aziraphale could talk himself into a nervous wreck in no time and wouldn’t have that happen here. “Here, I’ll go get us some champagne, yes? That’ll make it all better.” 

“I don’t see how getting drunk would be helpful right now, Crowley,” Aziraphale snapped. 

Crowley pulled his hand away and shoved it into his pocket before Aziraphale sighed and patted his elbow. 

“I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to get angry, I’m just- well, I’m quite nervous, now,” Aziraphale looked embarrassed. 

“Champagne,” Crowley said, decisively. 

Crowley swept the room to look for one of those waiters and spotted one a few feet away. He grabbed four slender glasses and before the waiter could protest, Crowley gave him a wink and a $20 appeared on the tray. 

Heading back, he saw Aziraphale looking at the hors d'oeuvres and plucking a few onto a small, white plate. Crowley cleared his throat and Aziraphale turned to him, smiling. 

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale kissed his cheek, again, and if this was going to become a normal thing, Aziraphale was going to have to let Crowley know so that he would be more prepared and maybe not turn bright red*. 

*This is a lie, of course. Crowley would turn the brightest of reds even if he was given a 20 day heads-up. 

“Nngh, yeah, no problem-o,” Crowley said, laughing nervously. He led them to an empty table and set the glasses down. He quickly finished his first glass and went to grab the second one to do the same, when Aziraphale’s hand stopped him. 

“Dear boy, at least give me a chance to keep up,” Aziraphale smiled softly before letting go and downing his own glass. 

_ This was a good idea, get some champagne in the angel and he’ll be just loose enough to give a speech without panicking. Yes. Good idea, Crowley. You’re so smart. Why thank you, Crowley.  _

Aziraphale giggled as some champagne dripped down his cheek when he missed his mouth slightly and Crowley felt his chest warm up. Whether that was the alcohol or the delighted sound coming from Aziraphale’s lips, Crowley couldn't tell. 

___________________________________________________

Two glasses of champagne quickly turned into four, which quickly turned into six, which quickly turned into a number that became long lost in Aziraphale’s foggy, bubble-filled mind. 

He couldn’t stop laughing loudly at everything Crowley said and could feel his cheeks burning with a drunken blush. He leaned on his hand as he stared at Crowley enthusiastically tell the story of how he was there when Gabriel told Mary she was pregnant. Aziraphale watched as Crowley threw his hands haphazardly in every direction and grinned big when he got to the part where he turned into a goat and bit Gabriel’s robe. He was so beautiful like this, so happy and carefree. 

Oh my, he was quite “wasted,” as the kids say, wasn’t he? 

Just then, the band began to play a very upbeat song, the horns blaring as everyone who had previously been sitting finally gave up and let loose on the rather large dance floor. 

“Come on, angel, let’s dance!” Crowley said, standing up and offering his hand to Aziraphale. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whined. “You know I ca- hic- you know I dunno how to dance.” 

Crowley elected to ignore Aziraphale’s weak protests and pulled him up and out onto the floor. He stopped them at the edge of the large crowd and started swaying energetically. 

“Angel, lissten, you don’t need to  _ know _ how to dance, s’not- s’not a thing you  _ know _ , it’s sssomethin’ you  _ feel _ ,” Crowley was smiling as he hopped around and was encouraging Aziraphale to do the same. “Jus’ try it, huh? It’s fun. For me.” 

Aziraphale looked dumbfounded at Crowley for a second before thinking  _ fuck it _ and began hopping around like a fool to the beat. And you know what? It was. Fun, that is. 

They both burst into laughter as they spun in circles around each other. They continued on like that for what felt like hours, grabbing each other’s arms and swinging around with no regard for their fellow guests. 

Just as they spun to face each other, the song ended and a slower one began*. 

*Why the band decided to play such a slow song after getting the crowd energized is unknown. Maybe it’s simply because God works in mysterious ways

“Oh, er,” Aziraphale made to move off the dance floor, but Crowley grabbed his hand to stop him. 

“You know, you really should try  _ all _ kinds of dancing, Aziraphale,” Crowley pulled him in so they were chest to chest and began swaying at a much slower pace than before. 

“Well, this kind of dancing requires a bit more skill, wouldn’t you agree?” Aziraphale relaxed into Crowley’s hold, letting himself be led in small circles. Crowley’s hand was soft in his and the spot on Aziraphale’s lower back where Crowley’s other hand was firmly placed felt as if it was burning through the layers of his suit. 

“Don’t worry, angel, I have enough skill for both of us,” Crowley smiled at him and everyone else in the room melted into nothing - it was just the two of them, holding each other close as the band’s singer crooned a light melody. 

Aziraphale let himself rest his head on Crowley’s shoulder, his nose lightly brushing Crowley’s neck. 

“Thank you, again, dear,” Aziraphale said in such a low voice that Crowley wasn’t even sure he had really heard it. 

“Mmm, for what?” Crowley asked, though Aziraphale was sure he knew the answer. 

“For everything,” Aziraphale replied. “Ever. From comforting me when we first met, to humoring me with oysters in Ancient Rome, to saving me and my books during World War II, to stopping bloody Armageddon, to accepting my invitation to this ball. Just- thank you. I don’t know if you know how much it all means to me, how much you take care of me. You’re always- well, you’re always there for me.” 

Crowley stopped their slow swaying and pulled back to look at Aziraphale. 

“I always will be, angel.” That’s what came out of Crowley’s mouth. But what Aziraphale heard was something different altogether. 

_ I love you. I love you. I love you. I have loved you. I will love you. I will never stop loving you. Everything I do is because I love you.  _

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed out, suddenly finding Crowley’s mouth very interesting.  _ And what _ , Aziraphale thought,  _ is stopping me from further exploring my curiosities? No one is watching. Not Heaven, not Hell, not even any of the other guests surrounding us. _

“Would you look at that?” Crowley said, looking up with a curious look on his face. Above them, seemingly out of thin air*, a sprig of mistletoe sprouted. 

*’Out of thin air’ being a loose phrase, here, that really refers to ‘out of the mind of one very aloof angel’

“Well,” Aziraphale smiled. “What’s that tradition, again? That involves two people under mistletoe?” 

Crowley smiled back at him. It was a terribly fond smile. One that reached all the way up to his eyes, unhidden behind his sunglasses when this close in proximity. If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, he’d say that Crowley liked him quite a lot to grace him with a smile like that. 

“I think I know the one,” Crowley replied. And then the world really did melt away because right then, Crowley leaned in and kissed Aziraphale.

Crowley’s hand left its previous spot in Aziraphale’s to move up and cup his cheek, where Crowley stroked gently along Aziraphale’s cheekbone as he began to move his lips. It was soft, impossibly sweet, and ended far too soon. 

As soon as Crowley started to pull away, Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s neck and reeled him back in, kissing him with more feverence than before. 

“Mmmph, Aziraphale,” Crowley mumbled against Aziraphale’s insistent kisses. “We’re in public, you know. Or has the champagne  _ really _ gone to your head?” 

Crowley had managed to free himself and was looking a bit rumpled, which made Aziraphale giggle. Crowley giggled, back, and pressed their foreheads together. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale breathed between fits. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Anthony J. Crowley, and  _ not _ in an ‘all-encompassing angel’ way. In a ‘I never want to spend another moment not kissing you and reminding you of how much you mean to me’ way.” 

Crowley had stopped laughing and was now looking at Aziraphale like he held the entire world in his hands. To Crowley, he did. 

“Angel,” Crowley’s voice broke on that one, simple, five-letter word. “ _ Aziraphale _ , you can’t just- you can’t jussst sssay thingss like that in public.” 

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed the corner of Crowley’s mouth. 

“And why not, darling?” 

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand in a quick motion and was promptly dragging him off of the dance floor, toward the back wall of the ballroom. 

“Er, where are we going?” Aziraphale asked, looking around urgently. 

“ _ We _ are going to find the nearest private space available, because I can’t just have you calling me ‘darling’ and looking at me with that Godforsaken besotted gaze and be expected to not kiss you senseless right here in front of all of these- these  _ strangers _ ,” Crowley practically growled. 

“Ah, yes, well, that sounds agreeable to me,” Aziraphale said feeling like a lovesick teenager suddenly. 

Crowley turned back to arch an eyebrow at Aziraphale and give him a smirk. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’d love nothing more, dear.” 

______________________________________________________

Eventually, after dinner was served and guests were just finishing up dessert, Abigail took to the stage and said a few, brief words. She wanted to thank everyone for attending and donating, and gave updates on what plans were for the new year. After light applause, she went to introduce their biggest donor of the year, Mr. A.Z. Fell, who had donated a little over £950,000 in the past year alone. 

But when his name was called, no one came. 

Abigail chuckled nervously and made a comment about maybe next year they won’t be serving as much alcohol. Everyone laughed and the ball went on. People danced some more, mingled with newfound acquaintances, and wrote out very generous checks for further donations. 

And in the broom closet along the back wall, an angel and a demon were making up for 6,000 years of waiting.    
  


******* BONUS:**

A week later, with the fireplace crackling and a fresh cup of cocoa in hand, Aziraphale found himself more at peace than he can ever recall being in his long life. He had a new misprinted edition of the Bible in his hands, the bookshop was closed until after the new year, and there was a wily demon curled snugly into his side, breathing softly. 

“Angel?” Crowley asked, voice filled with sleep. “Why did that woman at the charity automatically assume I was your husband? I mean, I know people have assumed we were, well,  _ something _ \- boyfriends, or whatever - before, but she explicitly said  _ husband _ without so much as a second thought.” 

Aziraphale smiled and lifted his hand to card through Crowley’s hair. The demon practically purred under Aziraphale’s touch. 

“Well, dearest, that’s actually a sort of funny story,” Aziraphale started. “You see, when I first began to donate, it was in person. I’d pop by, drop of a check, and be on my way. The check lady, Doris, well, er, she grew rather, how shall I put this -  _ fond _ of me.”

Crowley grinned and looked up at Aziraphale. “Who wouldn’t? A generous man with a soft smile and an ass that won’t quit? Anyone would grow fond - fast. I know I did.” 

Aziraphale began to visibly blush. 

“And I didn’t want to lead the poor woman on, nor did I want to just outright deny her, terrible for confidence, that is, so I told her I was taken,” Aziraphale concluded. “Married, in fact. With a  _ husband _ . Got her off my trail very quickly. I even began to speak to her about this husband when I would come in, and I didn’t want to just make someone up and have to keep up with an entire fake person, so I sort of, you know- talked about you.” 

Crowley shifted so he was sitting a little straighter and looked curiously at Aziraphale’s face. 

“Well, now, if you’re going to go around telling people that I’m your husband, I think I should at least get a ring out of it, don’t you think?” Crowley teased. 

Aziraphale looked down at the book in his lap and began rubbing the cover before sighing and looking up to meet Crowley’s gaze. 

“Ah, yes, this was supposed to wait until Christmas, but might as well do it now,” Aziraphale got up from his spot on the couch to walk over to the Christmas tree. He grabbed a small, red box from the very back and came back to stand in front of Crowley. Then he kneeled. 

“Anthony J. Crowley, I have known you for 6,000 years and it’s come to my attention recently that I want to know you for another 6,000 or 8,000 or however many years this strange, floating ball of dirt has left. I want to spend all of it with your wrapped up in my arms, so would you please do me the honor of-” 

But Aziraphale didn’t get to finish, because Crowley had already pounced on him, knocking them both to the ground.    


“Yes, yes, yes, yes, of course, yes, you silly, beautiful, wonderful angel,” Crowley said, peppering kisses all over Aziraphale’s face. 

They remained on the floor for a very long time after that. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, and if you did, check out my other Good Omens works!


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